A Series of Quick Successions
by ririunlocked
Summary: In a world ruled by blood and shadows, there is much to explore in it's society and rulers, it's secrets and truths, and more importantly, it's demons and angels. Clary Fray is forced into hiding and taught how to navigate this world, mastering all methods to survive alone only to come to learn that she must seek help. In particular from an arrogant yet skilled golden boy.
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue: In the dead of night**

In a world ruled by blood and metal, the lives of royals were considered to be like the fabric of the universe. Each thread a song or story of great deeds with high consequences, mistakes resulting in streams and looms of wisdom. Although, what many seemed to forget about the brave, courageous, intelligent and diligent leaders of the Shadow Kingdoms, was the threads frayed and burned with the poison of corruption which men and women mistake for _justice_.

Lady Jocelyn Morgenstern had experienced such poison and was thinking about all it had destroyed her family as she paced continuously in front of the fire in her room, while messages she had written burned at her feet. She prayed to the Angel that her friend had received them otherwise their plan was all for nothing, her hand stroking the dishevelled red locks of her daughter who whimpered in her sleep.

"It's alright baby girl," she whispered as she smoothed out the stained sheets on her bed, avoiding moving her daughter too much. "I'll get you out of here, don't worry. It'll all be fine." Jocelyn remembered the day she had discovered she was pregnant with her second child. How the doctor had congratulated her with the news, how her husbands eyes gleamed at the thought of a second son, how her hands came to rest on the small, unknown bump, how she knew that she had to protect the life of this child against the man she thought was her love even if it killed her. How she had failed in her goal and was making every effort to change what had become her habits of forgiveness.

She had written recently to the same friend in the hope that she would forgive her for her mistakes and help her right this wrong. She had received a reply almost immediately, but there was no sign of her now and Jocelyn was startled by the thought that maybe Madeline hadn't forgiven her as she originally thought.

The door behind her opened and she turned, her relief rising – only to be dashed at the sight of one of Valentine's servants. He had fired their first staff and hired - or rather procured - men and women to watch her and report back to him in his absence, beginning as far back as she could recall with the birth of their first born and how her "duty" to him had been fulfilled. Or at least the end of her complete obedience in the lie he called their marriage.

"Are you alright, my lady?" Katherine asked, her gaze drifting from her panic stricken face to her hand smoothing what appeared to her as an empty bed

 _Traitor,_ Jocelyn thought, but then again, the girl was only human which made it that much easier to hide Clary with a strong glamour.

"Everything is fine, Katherine, you may leave." Jocelyn said harshly, letting her hand drop, standing as tall as she could manage. Her posture reminiscent of her old life as the women she was born to be, no the shell she had become.

Katherine's eyes narrowed as she looked more closely at Jocelyn, "You know His Lordship would be very angry to find you ill under my care. Have you taken some-" and promptly fainted mid-sentence in a swirl of blue sparks.

"What – "

"My, my, dear sweet Princess. Are you surprised to see me?" a voice called out from the shadows of her door. It was dripped in sarcasm and the familiar all knowingness of –

"Magnus Bane." Jocelyn exhaled and sank into relief on her bed. Behind him came her dear friend Madeline, silver hair pulled back and a seraph blade at the ready. Behind her the familiar shadow of a man trailed slowly into the room leaving Jocelyn even more faint at the sight of him.

"Luke – I thought you were – Valentine said – " She stuttered.

"No," Magnus said, "I think that's the shock of the risen dead appearing in front of you. Now you," pointing at Luke, "go move this _thing_ into the closet and make sure she can't make a sound if she wakes up. And you," pointing at Madeline, "Mark the room." Finally he turned to Jocelyn, who watched the small shower of blue sparks as he twisted his hands expertly. "I think it's time to finally get you and your precious girl out of this prison."

The events that took place next were a blur to Jocelyn.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 1: A Lesson in Obedience**

In a world ruled by blood and shadows, there is much to explore in it's society and rulers, it's secrets and truths, and more importantly, it's demons and angels. Clary Morgenstern's father, King Valentine, considered himself to be an expert on the subject as the supreme ruler of the Fairchild Kingdom, or as he liked to say, the entirety of the Shadow Lands. Clary knew little of such things at her young age of six and preferred to spend her time in her chambers mixing ink and drawing pictures rather than learn of such things, much to the disapproval of her father which he let known to her on a regular basis.

As of right now, Clary knew she should be hurrying to follow her fathers orders and convene with the family in the great hall, but she didn't know what convene meant and was instead drawing among a pile of scattered papers against her chamber floor.

Suddenly her hair was yanked back, and Clary screamed as she tried clawing at the person's arms.

"Father's _so_ mad at you little sister," Jonathan, her older brother whispered in her ear.

"Let go! Let go! Let GO!" she cried, ignoring him. His grip left her hair and she fell back to the floor clutching her head between her hands.

Jonathan chuckled above her, "Poor little sister, would it make you feel better if I told you everything will be alright?" Clary nodded her head slowly. "Well it's not. Fathers coming to punish you, should I start the process for him?" he said, pulling back his leg as if to kick her.

"Jonathan. Come here." Hearing the deep tone of their fathers voice, Jonathan stopped and stood straight, the picture of etiquette and obedience. Except, of course, for the wicked smile he showed Clary as he walked purposely towards the doorway. Valentine did not step into the room, or approach his daughter, staying just outside the arches of her doorway.

"Clarissa. Stand." Letting go of her hair, Clary trembled as she slowly stood, bowing her head in preparation for the punishment her brother had promised.

"You have training. Come." Startled, Clary looked up sharply as her father turned and began walking away. Her gaze moved to Jonathan who looked just as shocked at the calm demeanour of their father.

Quickly moving, Clary ran to catch up while keeping a safe distance between herself and Valentine, always remaining five feet behind as was instructed in her etiquette classes.

"- with knives. I will not have a weak mundane daughter carry my name. Your brother has proven himself exceedingly capable, you have yet to make me think otherwise." Clary heard him saying, catching only the end of his speech. He didn't turn to make sure she heard him or was still following, but continued walking towards the training room. Stopping outside the door, he waited for the servants to announce his presence and open the door for him

Hodge, Clary and Jonathan's tutor stood behind the door, head low and spine bent. "Your Highness," taking the King's outstretched hand he kissed it where the family ring was placed. He then turned to Clary and bowed, "Princess."

"Clarissa, get dressed." Her father said, as he turned and sat down to observe her lesson. Clary hadn't noticed the ornate chair placed in the corner, her nerves intensifying at the thought of him watching her. Evaluating her. It occurred to her then that Jonathan's prediction was about to come true.

A maid had taken her hand then and led her into a small chamber room to change her clothes from the dress she was forced to wear this morning and had already stained from sketching. Normally the maid Gwen would help her change. She was the around the same age as Clary almost, but an older woman was with her today. Sarah, she thought her name was. Or maybe, Stella. She continued to list named in her head to distract herself from the events about to transpire outside the changing room. A thinner dress was roughly pulled down over her head with slits along the sides for better movement while a pair of pants was handed to her to put on. Slipping them on quickly, Clary made her way back outside to find a set of targets set up against the far wall.

Hodge waited in the middle of the room for her. Walking towards him, she looked at her father to see if he was watching her. Instead his gaze remained stationed towards her teacher without glancing in her direction as she moved. Turning back to Hodge she saw him smile at her invitingly but it wasn't like the warm smile she'd receive from her mother or Gwen. The skin around his eyes didn't crinkle, but remained smooth but almost as if the skin was heavy somehow. Weighed down with sadness and fear.

He waited till she reached him before starting their lesson. "Today," he said, speaking loud enough to reach the corners of the room, and more importantly her father, "we will be focusing on your hand and eye coordination with target practice. Using knives." He moved aside to reveal the box behind him, filled to the brim with an assortment of throwing knives.

Picking one up, Hodge demonstrated the motion slowly to aim the knife at the target. Clary watched as his hunched shoulder's straightened out as if his back was perfect, his legs were spread width apart, and his arm twisted slowly in the air.

Clary turned her body to mimic his, copying the motions. Hodge demonstrated five times slowly without throwing the knife, on the sixth she barely saw his arm move before the knife was embedded in the first targets bullseye. Clary's eyes went wide and Hodge turned then, handing her a new knife while one of the maids pulled the one that had been thrown from the target. Stepping back, Hodge motioned for her to try.

Clary wrapped her hand around the knife and noticed how big it was in her tiny fist compared to Hodge's. If she pushed it against her hand, she thought it might go straight through with over half left to stick out the other side. Swallowing, she ignored the piercing gaze she felt on her back and stepped forward. Turning her feet, she spread her legs to stand more steady, with her left arm closest to the target she held the knife in her right, leaned back and flung the knife.

It's metal scratched against the floor, never reaching it's goal.

The sound of her heart pounded loudly in her ears and she turned back to Hodge who looked ready to correct her stance when he was interrupted.

"Again." Her father said.

Hodge stood still for a second before grabbing Clary another knife.

Trembling, she repeated her actions with the same results. Hodge returned with another knife and not a single whisper of advice. The more she tried the more she panicked at getting it wrong, and the worse she threw. Her throat felt as if it had been stuffed with a handful of marbles like the time Jonathan thought it would be funny to trick her into eating them saying her hair would change colour to match the swirls.

Closing her eyes to stop from crying, she threw the knife like when she threw her paint brushes at him for making her choke. In return he had snapped them all in half but at least she hit her target then. Turning back around to get another knife she noticed she didn't hear the scratch of metal on the floor. She had finally hit the target and looked to see the knife sticking out on the very edge of the board, hilt deep. Before she could even smile, her fathers voice filled the hall.

"Again."

Wrapping her hand around another knife, Clary imagined as if the marbles had melted from her throat. She imagined as if she was holding a brush instead of a thick, heavy knife. To make a stroke on paper she would move her whole arm, but her wrist and fingers did most of the work. Picturing Hodge and his demonstration, she focused not on his arm but his hand and saw it twist right before he would release.

Taking a deep breath and wishing she was back in her room drawing, she took her stance, held her left arm out, kept her eye on the middle, and threw the knife.

The hilt of the blade vibrated after sinking all the way through the bullseye. Clary did not dare show her happiness and turned towards Hodge and her father. Valentine looked at her steadily then, before nodding to one of his footmen. Taking a deep breath he said, "Again," and that's when Clary understood where Gwen must have been earlier as she was being led to stand in front of one of the targets. With her hands bound with rope and her eyes covered with fabric to make a blindfold, her head just reached the tip of the circle that marked the bullseye.

Another knife was placed in Clary's hand and she was pushed forward. Closing her eyes she tried imaging that no one was standing there, that it was just a blank canvas with a bright red dot in the middle she was meant to hit. But when she opened her eyes, her imagination betrayed her and instead she saw the knife sticking through Gwen's hand, or her arm, of her stomach, or her eye.

"Again Clarissa."

She wasn't holding a paint brush anymore, no matter how much she imagined otherwise. And she couldn't miss. Clary blinked, but didn't close her eyes. She didn't think, she didn't imagine, she saw everything instead. Gwen's heavy breathing, the bright red of the bullseye, and then the knife having left her tiny hand sail through the air and hit home, again, exactly how she wanted it to. Exactly how her father wanted it to.

She didn't turn this time, or look to see his face. The lesson had to be over. This nightmare had to be over.

"Again. One more time. But here instead."

She watched the same footman who brought Gwen out then come and stand in front of her, unbutton the top three buttons of her dress to show a new red circle, in the middle of Gwen's chest. A new target. A life.

Clary didn't feel anyone put the knife in her hand but she looked down and saw herself clenching it. She knew what to do, what would make her father happy and proud.

She dropped the knife on the floor and turned away.

Valentine stood behind her then, picking up the knife, he held it lightly while with the other hand he patted the top of Clary's head before tightening his fingers, turning her back around and throwing the blade.

Her imagination didn't prepare her for that.

Gwen's skin wasn't as hard as the target board had been. The red that bubbled around the blade and slowly out of her mouth didn't match the red of the original targets either, but was dark, almost black as she coughed it out of her mouth and it slowly spread through the fabric of her clothes like a slow moving dye.

His grip remained tight on her scalp forcing her to stay still as he commanded for everyone else to leave the room.

"This morning, I ordered you to come to the great hall with the rest of the family to greet our guests. Where were you?"

Clary was crying but managed to voice, "In my room Father."

"I am not your Father, I am your King. Do you understand me?"

She tried to nod but his grip was too tight.

"And to think I trusted your stupid mother to keep you in line." He whispered under his breath, letting go of her head so she could finally fall to the ground and cry.

It was then that her mother ran into the room and wrapped her arms around Clary as Valentine stood and watched, face impassive.

Rocking Clary back and forth, she moved her away from the sight of Gwen and turned to her husband.

"She is only a child, how could you – "

"There is no such thing as children among Shadowhunters, and especially not among my family. Innocence is for the weak and is no excuse for your daughter's behaviour."

Her mothers face dropped even further than it had from when she ran into the room as she said almost whispering, "She is your daughter too."

"Not as long as she behaves and acts like this, she is not." He moved to leave the room then but stopped at the door, "Jonathan was taught the same lesson at a younger age. He threw the knife. You should be proud." And left.

Jocelyn Morgenstern, Queen and heir to the Fairchild Kingdom picked Clary up, held her close and walked briskly back to her chambers. Stifling her daughters cries, she took short cuts between servants halls and hidden doorways known only to her and the family she grew up with, avoiding the eyes of her husbands court.

By the time they were alone behind her closed doors, Clary had gone silent but remained awake with her eyes wide open.

"It's okay baby girl, I'm gonna get you out of here. Don't you worry help is on the way." Jocelyn said while walking around the room opening a box to pull out a thin metal wand before kneeling on the ground at the foot of her bed. She began drawing a mark upon the floor that Clary briefly glanced which she understood to mean 'open'. A piece of the floor moved to reveal a stand holding various vials. Tracing her finger across them, Jocelyn pulled out a blue liquid with swirls of white.

Clary would say it looked like the sky if she had the will to speak. She said nothing.

"Okay baby girl, drink this and you'll feel so much better. Mummy promises it'll help you go to sleep. Here you go," she said, holding it against Clary's lips, tilting her head back. After the last drop had vanished she slowly pulled back the thin, lightweight blankets stained from overuse her husband permitted her to sleep under in her private chambers and placed a now dozing Clary there.

Grabbing some parchment near her bed while stroking her hair, Jocelyn wrote a message which she then set fire to with her stele. Clary finally began to drift into unconsciousness as the smell and warmth of the burning paper seemed as if to blossom inside her chest and spread to her fingers and toes while her mother softly hummed a tune.

"It's alright baby," was the last thing she heard her mother say before…...

"Chairman Meow, no! Her hair is not some string you can play with. Luke can you please?" a growl could be heard then along with a kitten's whine. "Looks like she's finally waking up. Hello biscuit."

Clary's eye's flickered open to find the face of a young man above her, blue sparks springing from his finger tips and black spiky hair that looked as if a box of glitter had exploded on it. His eyes were the most striking, a mix between amber and moss green, his pupil a slightly rounded slit.

"We're friends of your mothers," he said. In response, Clary screamed.

"In the name of the seven hells, I told your mother I wasn't good with children. LUKE!" and a much larger man burst through the door to the room she was in, carrying a kitten that was clawing at his hand which he pulled back as if ready to throw it. Clary did the only thing she could think of in that situation, and fainted.

"Thank the Angel that potion was so strong. She'll probably only wake up for small amounts of time till she weens off it. Jocelyn shouldn't have given her the full vial." Magnus said.

"Didn't you make the potion?"

Magnus paused briefly and said, "Yes I did. You should thank me then. But aren't I still an Angel in your eyes?"

Luke threw Chairman Meow at Magnus.


End file.
